


all my casualties of love

by moonmotels



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Angst, Christmas Fluff, F/F, Useless Lesbians, cordelia's mad babyyy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:28:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21821461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonmotels/pseuds/moonmotels
Summary: tfw your girlfriend who's not really your gf doesn't speak to you for a week
Relationships: Misty Day/Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode
Comments: 17
Kudos: 127





	all my casualties of love

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday miss paulson u cute or whateva

That was her. _PURE, LUCID, EVIL._ I’d sleep all right with that on top of me.

Bertolt Brecht, from Poems 1913 - 1956  
  


Under the soft blue comforter in Cordelia’s bed - bought because it reminded Cordelia of Misty’s eyes, not that she’ll ever admit that - Misty stretches out, agile like a cat, and yawns. It’s late morning, the sharp chill in the air making her hiss when her toes slip out from under the blanket. The other side of the bed is empty, cold; looks like it hasn’t been slept in. A pang of sadness reverberates through Misty, because this means Cordelia has neglected once again to share the space with her.

The scent of homemade sugar cookies wafts through the vents right above the kitchen and she grins, because this means Coco, Zoe, and Cordelia have taken over the kitchen in preparation for their annual Christmas Eve dinner. Last year, she’d obviously been preoccupied with some other, more pertinent tasks, so this year is something special.

In the kitchen, Madison is dressed in full hair and makeup as if she won’t be sitting at the kitchen island barking orders all day. “Morning swampy, hope you asked Santa for some new clothes to replace those ratty old ones.” 

Misty looks down at her vintage t-shirt and plaid flannel bottoms, fiddles with the hem a little when she notices she’d accidentally pulled on a pair of Cordelia’s pants. In response, she snatches the bowl of raspberries Madison had been picking on. At the following shriek, Zoe apologetically places an apple in her direction. “Hi, Misty.”

“Hiya, Zo. What’re y’all makin’?” 

Coco doesn’t slow down her obnoxiously loud mixing as she replies, “Well our fucking Supreme can’t be _bothered_ to help us out today, so I’m stuck making appetizers, desserts, and the entire meal.”

Misty senses the anger coming off of her in waves, to which she takes a small step back and allows her space to work. Zoe pipes up from where she’s pulling cookies from the oven, “ _We_ are stuck making all the food. Queenie said she’d help but I’m pretty sure she’s still asleep.”

“I take it Delia’s still in her weird mood?” For the past week, Cordelia has been avoiding everyone like the plague, retreating behind her office door in the morning and staying well into the night when the house had settled for the evening. When she finally crawls into bed next to Misty, she doesn’t speak, just rolls on to her side and falls asleep almost instantly despite numerous attempts to get her to talk.

“Has been since she took you to that Christmas village, you sure you didn’t do anything? Give her blue balls perhaps? Get caught having a quickie on Santa’s sleigh?”

“No, Hollywood, it was a completely normal evening. All we did was walk around and look at the pretty lights.”

“You’re positive nothing happened?” Coco is exasperatedly rolling dough now, flour coating her being from head to toe. She looks so stressed that Misty begins to feel sorry for her, as dramatic as she normally can be. “Because really, I can’t take much more of this shit.”

“I’m sorry, Co. Let me go talk to her.” She grabs four cookies off the still-warm tray, yelping when Zoe swats her wrist with the spatula. At Cordelia’s office door, she knocks three times and waits for the confirmation to come in.

“G’mornin’ Delia.”

“Hello.” There is a bored edge to her tone, and Misty nearly retreats in defeat.

“I brought you cookies,” she lifts them up in an offering, tentatively placing the two she hadn’t eaten on top of Cordelia’s desk.

“Thanks. Is there a reason you’re wearing my pajamas?” 

When Misty doesn’t make any attempt to answer, Cordelia finally looks up at her face. With her glasses and hair still slightly mussed from sleep, she looks like a complete vision to Misty, the kind people spend their lives yearning for. Misty is lucky, she thinks, that her dreams are a reality and live right here as an extension of her heart. 

“Did you need something else?” 

She stares blankly at the prettiest woman in the universe. “Just wonderin’ what’s up with you, that’s all.”

Cordelia sighs and pushes her glasses up over her head. Misty wishes she wouldn’t do that, wishes the gesture didn’t make her gut twist the way it does. She digs her nails into her palm to calm herself down.

“There is nothing ‘up’ with me. Although I do wish you’d stop bringing me food, I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself.”

“Sure seems like you’re doin’ a great job of it.” She gestures towards the plate she’d brought Cordelia last evening, still piled high with a sandwich and fruit salad.

“I’m fine,” she says sternly, and Misty finally takes her cue to leave. If Cordelia didn’t want to talk, it wouldn’t do anyone good to force her.

Halfway out the door, Cordelia’s voice stops Misty in her tracks and she pivots sideways to listen. “I think you should start sleeping in your own room, you haven’t had a nightmare in weeks. I’ll have Mallory move your few things out.”

Misty’s blood runs cold. 

“Care to explain why?” 

Even if all they did was sleep next to each other, the simple act has done wonders for her healing process. She spent most nights curled up in a ball watching Cordelia sleep, wondering if it’s possible for someone to look that angelic at all hours of the day with no time off. Cordelia was the only person in this house who didn’t make a fuss if Misty woke up thrashing and screaming; unlike everyone else she’d tried sharing a room with.

“Does it matter?”

“It matters to me, yes.”

“It just doesn’t look good for a Supreme to be sharing a bed with a superior. That’s all.”

“A superior? Is that what I am to you? Guess I thought I meant a lil’ more than that. My mistake.”

“That’s not what I meant, Misty, and you know that. I have responsibilities to uphold, and I can’t be seen letting you get away with things. If you do what you want, I have to let everyone else do as they please. I can’t have that.”

“Did I miss the memo where you let the girls get away with shit? Last I checked you run a tight ship around here, Miss Supreme.”

“I’m very busy, Misty. Please.” She waves a hand and the door swings ajar, as if it were waiting patiently for Misty to step back through it.

“If you’re going to be actin’ like a prick for a while, I might just pack my shit n’ move back home so you don’t gotta worry about me.”

At her use of the word ‘home’, Cordelia gracefully manages to hide her flinch. Even so, she holds her ground. “If you think that’s what’s best, I will not stop you.”

Misty wants to open her mouth and tell Cordelia to stop her, wants Cordelia to get on her knees and beg and plead for her not to leave, to shout from the rooftops that she can’t live without her. 

All that comes out is a curt, “Sounds like you’ve made up your mind then.” 

Back down in the kitchen, Zoe hopefully looks towards Misty for an explanation, eyebrows knit in confusion when she sees tears in the corner of her eyes. “What happened?”

“Whoever’s up there ain’t Delia.”

“Oh, sweetie, it’s probably nothing,” Coco tries to comfort as best she can while wrist deep in some biscuit dough. “Maybe Christmas just stresses her out.” In a flurry of flour, sugar, and spice, she bustles around Misty and lightly shoves her with her shoulder. “Do some of these dishes, will you babe?”

Misty sighs and sinks up to her elbows in soapy water, humming along to the Christmas music Zoe’s speaker is softly churning. Just as she finishes the load, she hears Madison go, “Long time no see, Cordy.”

There, in the form of a goddess herself, stood Cordelia. She’d showered and put on some makeup, glowing radiantly as normal. She tosses the cookies and food Misty had brought her into the garbage and sidesteps her to throw the plate in the sink.

“Hello, Madison. How are you all doing?”

“We’d be better off with some help,” snarks Coco, “but good I suppose.”

“I’m sure Queenie will help you when she wakes up.”

“What’s Mallory doing? She could help.”

“I’ve asked Mallory to start taking Misty’s belongings into the spare bedroom until she moves back to her home. Is that okay?” Cordelia uses her Supreme voice as if daring one of them to object to her authority.

No one moves or says a word. Cordelia straightens her shoulders and gives a passing goodbye, mentioning something about needing to return a gift before the stores get too crowded.

When the back door clicks with finality, everyone visibly sags with relief. 

“Jesus,” Madison quips, “What the fuck is up her ass?”

Misty nearly bites through her bottom lip to keep from wailing. There is too much heightened emotion in the room and she feels like a feral cat on high alert, ready to make a run for it at the first sign of danger.

“Why is she making you switch rooms?”

“I dunno. Somethin’ about me being a superior.”

Madison, who usually has a snotty joke ready at the tip of her tongue, scoffs out loud in disbelief. “It’s not like you two are even fucking. We’d all know. Cordy hasn’t gotten any in years, so what’s the problem with you two sharing a bed?”

Misty repeats, “I don’t know,” and is suddenly overcome with morose sadness. The kind of sad that settles an ache deep in your bones and takes months to shake off. The kind of sad that refuses to let you enjoy the simplest of things, like the nice Christmas Eve dinner she’d really been looking forward to. She’d only been half-serious earlier when she brought up moving back to her shack, but maybe that is where she belonged. 

  
Once dinner was on the table, everyone sat in their seats, fawning over the meal and name cards that Coco allowed Misty to hand write. As a final cosmic joke, she had placed her own card at the other head of the table, so if anything Cordelia will have to at least look at her. Said woman strolled in last, pouring herself a near full glass of wine before taking her seat. Misty poured her own glass half full of whiskey, sat across from her, and waited for the go ahead.

“I’ll keep this short and simple, because I know you’re all hungry. I’m very grateful for another year of good health, my girls, and most importantly, my closest friends, all of you; with whom I couldn’t run this coven without. Merry Christmas, everybody.”

With an echo of Merry Christmas, everyone dug into the food. 

Misty had just poured herself a second glass of whiskey when she finally glances up at Cordelia for the first time all evening. Her throat constricts. Cordelia has her head tossed back in laughter at something Mallory has said, and her cheeks were flushed with the alcohol. She looked beautiful. Positively fucking exquisite. A goddamn gift Santa has lovingly dropped under Misty’s tree. There’s a drop of red wine hovering above her top lip, and Misty counts to three in her mind to stop herself from launching her body over the table to lick it off. 

So, she may be a little _tipsy_. It’s Christmas. Isn’t everyone always going on about feeling that holiday cheer? 

Her thoughts of desire are interrupted when Cordelia sets her glass down and asks jovially, “Who made the potatoes?” Her voice is soft and airy, and that soft curve of her smile makes Misty want to scream and ask, _is everyone seeing this? Does everyone know they’re witnessing an angel on earth interact with us as though she belongs here?_

It takes her a second to remember that she, in fact, made the potatoes. “I did,” she says, coughing politely around her bite of turkey. “Why?”

“No reason, just that Hank used to make them the same way. Come to think of it, a lot of things you do remind me of him.”

The rest of the table, who had been blissfully unaware of Misty’s discomfort; all went silent at Cordelia’s confession. Even Zoe, who fiercely had her back through thick and thin, places a careful palm on her wrist and shot her a look.

Misty knew that look. It said, _do you really want to do this here? Right now?_ Cordelia shrugs her off and goes back to her plate, unaware to the tears welling in Misty’s eyes. She feels cold; the kind of cold the blooms through your veins to leave you paralyzed with fear, like you’ve been swimming in a warm lake under the blazing hot sun and hit an icy spot that could stop your heart. 

“What did you just say?” 

Cordelia cuts a glazed carrot in half and chews it slowly, thoughtfully. “I think everyone heard me.”

“Cords-” Coco tries, but she raises a hand to silence her. Misty can physically feel her blood pumping through her veins, white hot and bold.

“Is there a reason you’re treating me like absolute gator shit or did I miss something?”

Even Madison, who always has something to say, sat in silence; her eyes flicking back and forth like she couldn’t decide which side to pick.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Cordelia is clearly intoxicated, pouring herself another drink and taking a large gulp as though she’d been stuck in a desert with no water for weeks. “I’m trying to have an enjoyable dinner with my friends.”

Madison finally decided which side to throw her support to and casually says, “You mean the dinner you couldn’t be fucked to help out with?”

Mallory and Zoe both inhale sharp gasps and look towards Cordelia for a rebuttal; who merely downs the final sips of wine and stands on two steady feet. “Well, it was a lovely meal, girls. Thank you.”

She disappears from the room quietly; a ghost dissipating through the walls with ease. Misty is trembling so badly that the knife she’d had in a death grip taps steadily against the china plate set in front of her. Mallory is the first to speak, questioning, “Wait, Hank, as in-”

“The fugly white dude who used to dick Cordy down before he went full psycho on our asses and tried to exterminate us all? Yeah, that’d be him,” Queenie interrupts, “I dunno what you did swampy, but you better go put Cordelia in her place. Ain’t nobody comparing my girl to that pussy bitch of an ex-husband.”

Mumbling something about taking care of it, she follows Cordelia’s footsteps up the stairs in front of her office door, where she unlocks it with the spare key hidden above the doorway.

There at her desk sat Cordelia; feet kicked up, nursing a tumbler of bourbon like she were just having a relaxing moment after a long day. Like she hadn’t just ruined Misty’s life in the span of thirty seconds.

When she speaks, it’s clear as day. “My door was locked for a reason.” With this, Misty notices the cigarette in her hand, the smoke swirling into the air around her, hovering the way Misty wants Cordelia to hover over her. Even after tonight. Even after Cordelia has taken a baseball bat to her heart and shattered it across the lawn into a thousand pieces.

“Maybe you shouldn’t keep a spare key lyin’ around then.” She tosses the key on the desk where it slides off the other edge and onto the floor. Cordelia makes no attempts to pick it up.

“Did you want something?”

With all the love Misty has in her heart for Cordelia, there is a large part of her that wants to stalk around her desk and shake her roughly, scream in her face until her throat is raw and scratchy. Cordelia looks like she is ready to put up a fight. Misty knows this about her. The ease in which she sips her drink is fueling Misty’s own fight or flight response, but she will not give her the satisfaction of a blow out, will instead stand here and calmly demand answers until Cordelia provides reason.

“How could you say something like that to me? In front of everyone?”

Another long drag of her cigarette. “I was just being honest. You do remind me of Hank.”

“Why are you acting like this?”

“You’re sure asking a lot of questions.”

“You’re sure actin’ just like your mama.”

Cordelia scoffs; either in pain or disgust Misty can’t tell. “I don’t know what you want from me. I’m honest with you and all of a sudden I’m the bad guy. Shall I start lying to you instead? Pretend everything is fine?”

“That’s not- you’re not being honest,” Misty sputters, “you’re being cruel.”

“Perhaps,” she drawls, and it makes Misty see red. She’s so blasé about this entire exchange, and it’s something Misty isn’t used to. Cordelia is always so well spoken, so articulate and clear headed. This isn’t Cordelia. This is someone new, and Misty isn’t sure she likes her.

“That’s all you have to say?”

“I’m not particularly in the mood to speak to you. I don’t know how you can’t see that.”

“I’m not leaving until you explain yourself.”

Cordelia exhales a sharp sound, a dry laugh that makes the hair on the back of Misty’s neck stand up. She looks so calm, as though she’s accepted Misty’s presence in her life is no longer a necessity. Something she doesn’t need anymore.

“There’s nothing to explain. We can just part ways. I’m not sure why you haven’t realized this by now.”

“I don’t even know what ya mean by that, Delia. Honest to God, you're doin’ my fucking head in.”

She realizes now that one of them has read this situation wrong and it is not her.

“Jesus, you must really have it out for me.”

“I haven’t done anything to make you act like this. You’ve had it out for me since the Christmas village.”

Realization dawns on Misty as Cordelia looks straight at her for the first time all evening.

* * *

_You remind me every day,_   
_I'm not enough, but I still stay_   
_If you want me to leave, then tell me to leave,_   
_and baby, I'll go_

* * *

  
_a week ago_

Misty would be cold, she thinks, if Cordelia’s warmth didn’t spread through the tips of her toes to the roots in her head. The only cold part of her body is the tip of her nose, which she would like Cordelia to lean over and kiss; but Misty would never be caught dead asking for such a thing. Not now. The timing is off. The timing is always off. 

The Christmas village had been her idea, only after checking and double checking with Queenie that Cordelia had nothing planned for the evening. It had been perfect - they’d taken a short train ride that went past houses in town decorated with lights, strolled through an entire village set up to look like the North Pole, greeted Santa as he went around handing off gifts to children.

The point is, it was romantic. Cheesy, yes, but Cordelia seemed to be enjoying herself and whatever Cordelia likes, Misty likes. She bought her a hot cocoa and enjoyed the way warmth spread across Cordelia’s cheeks, the way her lips curled into a sinfully adorable smile at the first taste of sugar on her tongue.

In a little pop-up shop that had workers dressed like elves, Cordelia browsed some miniature fake trees for the second living room while Misty looked at ornaments. She wasn’t looking for anything in particular until something caught her eye. Picking it from between the faux tree branches, she held it in the light and decided it was the perfect gift for Cordelia.

She paid quickly, hoping her other half didn’t notice. Just as she turned back with the bag in her hands, Cordelia appeared behind her, looked down and said, “What’s that?”

“A gift.”

“Yes, I see that. A gift for whom?”

“You,” Misty admits.

“Do I get to open it?”

“It’s not Christmas yet, Delia. You wanna break tradition?”

By this point, they’d made their way out to a park bench to share a Christmas cookie shaped like a mistletoe. Misty tries her absolute hardest to ignore the irony of it. “Our lives revolve around drama and turmoil, I hardly think breaking a couple rules will kill us.” The colorful lights make Cordelia’s eyes shine bright, and Misty wordlessly unwraps the gift from the paper. There’s no way in Hell she could deny Cordelia a damn thing when she looks like that.

In her hand is a small red ornament shaped like a bell with a photo frame. Above it, “Our first Christmas” is scrawled in cursive, and there are little hand painted mistletoe surrounding the frame. Misty reaches into her satchel and retrieves her wallet, where she pulls out an old polaroid Zoe had taken of her Cordelia icing sugar cookies on their first holiday together so many years ago. She quickly folds the photo up and slides it beneath the frame, handing it to Cordelia. Her nerves are shot. Cordelia deserves bouquets of flowers, expensive dinners, entire galaxies; items Misty could never afford. She hoped this is enough.

Cordelia accepted the gift without saying anything at first. She examined it slowly before splitting into a wide grin that Misty accepts instantaneously with her own smile. She’s earned this; being the sole reason for Cordelia’s utter happiness, even if only for the night. It’s a good feeling.

“You kept this photo all this time?”

“I used to think about it - think about you down in that rotten classroom. How much you believed in me.”

“I still believe in you,” Cordelia replied, and it constricts Misty’s heart, “I never once thought you weren’t capable of great things.”

“Ah, well, you just have to say that ’cause you’re the Supreme.”

“No, Misty, I mean that. Thank you for this, it’s beautiful. I love it,” Cordelia blinked back heavy tears that threatened to spill onto the ugly Christmas sweater Misty had forced her into. (When Cordelia had come downstairs donned in the sweater, ugly is the absolute last adjective Misty would have used for it.)

“I love you,” she continues, voice strong and steady. 

Misty’s brow quirked in confusion for a split second before she brushed the crumbs off her pants and stood, offering her arm to Cordelia. “Shall we take the train one more time?”

* * *

_Oh, my love, my darling_   
_I've hungered for your touch_   
_Lonely rivers sigh_   
_"Wait for me, wait for me"_   
_I'll be coming home, wait for me_

* * *

The second Cordelia makes eye contact with Misty, her world crumbles to pieces at her feet; entire cities burnt to ash in less time than it takes to blink.

“You told me you loved me.”

Cordelia snorts once more, stubbing her cigarette in the ashtray she kept hidden in her bottom desk drawer. “I did, yes.”

“And you meant it,” Misty whispers, trying desperately to wrap her mind around things. Cordelia _loves_ her. _Loved_ , she reminds herself. The Cordelia sitting in her line of vision clearly does not feel the same things she did a week ago. 

“I do mean it. Or I did, I’m not sure anymore. It’s both a blessing and a curse,” Cordelia laughs dryly. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but telling you that may have been the biggest one.”

“Wait a second, _wait_ -”

“No, Misty,” Cordelia’s voice raises an octave, coldness spilling out with every word. Misty takes a step back when all she wants to do is move closer. Now is not the time. It’s never the right time. 

“I’m done waiting. I waited while you were in Hell and I waited while you were healing. Do you know how much it took for me to tell you that? For you to completely dismiss it as though it meant nothing? I don’t know how you live like that. I’m done.”

“You don’t care if you lose me?” Misty’s voice breaks.

“I lost you once and I survived it. I can do it again.”

(She neglects to mention that she only survived it by the skin of her teeth - had been left in such a state that she barely functioned as a normal human for weeks and had to be pulled from bed most mornings by Zoe.)

If Misty were anyone else, she’d walk out the door and allow Cordelia to live with the outcome of her choices. She could try to move on, live some semblance of a normal life and always wonder about the what if. Yes, if Misty were anyone else, she’d leave. But no one else loves Cordelia the way Misty does. No one could even understand the immensity of it. Even after the way she has just been treated, Misty would still lay down her life for Cordelia if asked. She feels detached from herself, like she can’t be responsible for what happens next. 

“You’re goin’ to throw me away because I didn’t realize you meant it like that? That’s low. So fucking low, even for you.” 

When Cordelia had said those three perfect words, Misty had assumed she’d meant it in the simple way, like the way she loves breakfast food and gardening. The friendly way. Not in the all consuming way that kept Misty awake most nights, wondering how it’s possible to love someone so much it hurts. The idea of Cordelia loving her in that same capacity never even crossed her mind, had never been so much as an option.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You took me on a romantic date during Christmas, no less; and when I confessed my feelings it’s as though I’d commented on the weather. I refuse to be complacent with my emotions anymore. Don’t act like you didn’t understand me. That’s low.”

“You didn’t exactly make it clear.” One of Misty’s more prominent traits is stubbornness, the kind that’s coming out in full force this evening. 

“My mistake, I thought it might have been clear when we spent every waking moment together. Or maybe when we laid in bed at night and told each other things we’ve never told anyone. I guess it couldn’t have possibly been the hundreds of times I tried to save you from Hell. Please, Misty,” Cordelia accepts her fate, “I know you don’t love me, so just go. I can handle it.”

“But I do love you,” Misty insists, and she can hear her voice go shrill, “I love you more than any goddamn thing on this planet. You can’t toss me away like garbage.” 

“You’re drunk, Misty. You don’t mean that. Go to bed.”

“No,” she scares herself with how vicious it sounds, “I’m here, you don’t have to wait anymore. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”

Cordelia looks into blue eyes shining with the weight of a thousand tears, and Misty watches her façade crumble like a wrecking ball to a wall of bricks. Even in the hush of her darkened office, Cordelia can finally read things clearly, can finally understand that she’s gotten her wires crossed and upset Misty in the process. The last week has been spent ruining Misty when that was not her intention, but her anger at the situation manifested into a monstrous sized reaction that did not care who it hurt in the process. 

The one thing she hadn’t taken into account is that Misty could love her back just as much, if not more. When Misty had neglected to reply, Cordelia hadn’t understood that she wasn't explicitly clear with her confession. She realizes this now, realizes she’s done both Misty and her heart a great dishonor.

After a period too long, she speaks, “Do you really mean that? I’ve hurt you.” If she could snap her fingers and take it all back, she would. She wishes that she could, that her powers had that ability. She can level entire cities to dust with a crook of her finger but she cannot reverse what she’s just done to Misty. It may not be possible to forgive herself.

“You could hurt me a thousand times over and I would still be standing here.”

“You didn’t deserve that. I don’t deserve you.”

“Delia,” Misty says patiently, “You’ve always had me.”

“I don’t know what to say. I’ve upset you in an effort to numb my own pain.”

Misty walks over to the edge of Cordelia’s large desk and sits herself on it; a nomad roaming the earth in search for a warm place to rest. “You can come show me how sorry you are.”

Cordelia feels her heartbeat in her throat, a steady pounding that keeps her from speaking. The alcohol no longer pulses through her veins because Misty is more potent than any substance on earth. The effects of her mere presence will long withstand anything alcohol does to Cordelia’s brain. 

“Are you sure? If you need to be alone, I’ll-”

“Cordelia,” she cocks her head to the side, ”I’m waiting.”

Misty’s love is coming in waves so clear and powerful that Cordelia is useless to stand against its simple imperative, not that she’ll ever want to. Two trembling hands cup Misty’s cheeks, and there are no words for a moment, only steady eye contact that sends a ripple of fire straight to Cordelia’s heart.

“Is this, are you-”

“Anyone ever tell you that ya talk too damn much?”

Upon the first brush of her lips against Misty’s, Cordelia’s world opens up into something new, a euphoria that holds everything she’s ever dreamed about. It’s passionate and deep and wet, everything she’s craved on those long cold nights spent when Misty slept soundly two feet from her. For all the times Cordelia has imagined this scenario - particularly Misty’s tongue in her mouth - she thinks she hasn’t prepared herself nearly enough. She can feel the soft pants of air against her cheek as she moves down to explore more of Misty; her jaw, cheekbone, the space behind her ear that sends a quiver of desire through her small body. Cordelia makes a mental note to return to that spot later, because Misty is whispering _give me your mouth back,_ and well, what would be the point in denying that?

Cordelia still tastes like the wine and cigarette she’d had earlier, and Misty’s mind is foggy as if she’s getting drunk off the aftertaste. After the years of yearning and desperation, her ache for Cordelia is colossal and demanding. Their bodies rutting against each other feels both slow and frenzied at the same time, a unique dichotomy that can only come from the game of cat and mouse they have unknowingly been playing for years.

“I’m sorry,” Cordelia breaks apart and rests her forehead against Misty’s, sobs, “I’m so sorry.”

“Delia,” Misty gives her the gentlest of cheek kisses, feels the warmth of her skin, tastes the saltiness of her tears.

“No, Mist, listen to me. I was so- so angry when you didn’t reciprocate that I convinced myself you were rejecting me like Hank always did. You didn’t deserve that, you’re nothing like him.”

“Well, yeah, I’m much cuter.”

“Mist, I mean it. I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself. I’m sorry.”

“Just promise me you won’t bottle that shit up again. You can’t keep all your problems up here,” she taps Cordelia’s forehead twice. “You have t’talk to me. And don’t go ‘round assuming things, alright?”

“I promise I’ll never do anything like that again. I love you. I will never not love you.”

“Plenty a’ time to get it right together.”

Cordelia sighs from where she’s nuzzled her nose in the skin behind Misty’s ear, her hair smelling of wildflowers and pine needles. “Forever.”

“Delia?”

Cordelia hums her response, too enthralled with the warmth Misty’s body is giving off. She’s getting lost mapping the trail of freckles with her fingertips, and she’s not sure she ever wants to be found.

“Did you know that sunflowers face towards the sun?”

The statement would come as odd from anyone else, but then again, it’s Misty. “I did, yes.”

“And that when they can’t find the sun, they face towards each other?”

“Mhm.”

“What I’m tryin’ to say is that I think you’re my sun. I was so lost in that darkness that swallowed me whole n’ the only thing that kept me sane was thinkin’ about you. You’re the only person I wanna face towards.”

Misty’s heartfelt confession evokes a visceral reaction from Cordelia, one that fills every crack in her heart and spreads raw, unfiltered love through her veins like a fast moving drug. It’s fun and exciting and ever so magnificent.

“I love you,” is all she can reply. The simple act of loving Misty doesn’t feel simple, more of an enormous feeling that makes Cordelia want to explode with joy every second of the day.

“Marry me.” 

With her thumb repeatedly caressing the nape of Cordelia’s neck, Misty requests this suddenly, and it doesn’t sound reckless or even remotely rash. It sounds like this has been their plan all along. The world spins out from underneath Cordelia’s feet, and if Misty weren’t clutching on to her, who knows which orbit she’d be flung into.

“What?” Cordelia pulls back from the kiss Misty had corralled her into, “Like right now?” Her hands slide up and down Misty’s forearms in an attempt to ground herself. 

“Doesn’t Christmas make you feel all gooey inside? Like you can do anything?” Misty is excitedly rambling, and Cordelia wants nothing more than to kiss her again until the night closes in and morning comes. Maybe this is her Christmas miracle, she thinks, that Misty is in her arms after the events of the last week. Maybe she doesn’t deserve it, but it’s still here. Misty is still hers.

“It’s always like that, with you.”

“Then marry me,” she repeats.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“If you want me, I’m all yours.”

* * *

_Every flower is in bloom when you walk into the room_   
_Only growing, never slowing, next to you_

* * *

“Are you sure you want this?” 

With a quick google search, they’d found a 24 hour drive through chapel that boasted a ceremony in ten minutes or less. With the way Misty has been looking at her for the duration of this car ride, she already knows the answer. Cordelia has never wanted anything so badly in her life. She never will feel this indescribable pull again. Misty is her be all, end all.

“I’m sure I want you.”

With everything Cordelia has done wrong in her life, she thinks loving Misty has been the best and most sacred. She tells her this quietly, watches Misty accept it proudly before leaning over the center console to pepper her with a dozen kisses.

“I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you. I’ll spend my life trying to make up for it.”

“A lifetime of you doting after me like I’m a princess? I think I can handle it.”

At the window, a tired looking but enthusiastic man dressed as a pastor greets, “Hello ladies, how are we?”

“Real fuckin’ good,” Misty calls from the passenger seat.

“Glad to hear it. Can y’all fill this out for me?” He hands them a clipboard with some paperwork on it. “I’ll need a credit card and both your IDs.”

Handing them over, Cordelia fills out the form with precision before giving it to the pastor as well. Before starting, he asks, “Are you two sure you’re ready for this?”

Cordelia looks over at Misty, slides her palm up her thigh and grips it to soothe her nerves. “Yeah, she’s it for me.”

Her first wedding had been an expansive event, costing thousands of dollars and her sanity at the same time. It’d been nice, Cordelia had thought at the time, but she realizes now it had all been a front like her marriage. She doesn’t need all the flair anymore, she only needs Misty. This time is visibly different. It’s both down to earth and incredibly spontaneous, much like Misty herself. This is what’s right. Cordelia knows this, can feel it in her bones.

Maybe this is the most reckless thing she’s done in her life. Maybe it’s the most sane thing she’s done. She feels clear minded, like she’s just gone to the store to pick up some eggs and milk. She’s never been more alert. Whatever happens after this, she is comforted knowing Misty will be with her every step of the way. 

The pastor reads through the ceremony with rapt speed, having done this a thousand times over in his lifetime. Misty barely hears a word of it, can only focus on one thing, and that is Cordelia in the space next to her. 

“Vows? Which one of you would like to go first?”

“I will,” Misty blurts, still unable to take her eyes off Cordelia. “This may be the craziest damn thing I’ve ever done, but I will never again love anyone the way I love you. Thank you for being my best friend and making me feel safe every second of the day.” 

“I love you, Misty Day. I knew from the first second I met you that you meant something to me. You’re so incredibly perfect it makes my head hurt. I’m sorry the road hasn’t been easy, but I promise it’ll be better from now on.”

She nods with finality, hoping the pastor at this godforsaken drive through is almost through. Cordelia has other, important things she’d like to be doing with Misty.

“No rings?” He interrupts their steady eye contact.

“Oh, shit,” Cordelia glances down at her lap as though two shining wedding bands would appear out of thin air, “This was kind of spur of the moment.”

“It’s okay, Delia, I have an extra-“

“No, here,” she takes the sterling silver frog ring off her middle finger and slides it onto Misty’s finger. “Now we’re connected.”

The world around their car could go up in flames and Misty would be clueless to everything but the symbol of Cordelia’s eternal love. She’ll never be free from this hold Cordelia has over her; will always be the insect trapped happily in her web until she devours her mind, body, and soul. 

Cordelia simply rubs a thumb over her knuckles in response, knocking their matching rings together.

After each blonde says I do, the man at the window pronounced them wife and wife. 

It’s a strange feeling, after only sharing their first kiss two hours ago in a darkened room. Strange, but good. They’ll have time to work through logistics later, because right now, all that matters is Misty’s lips sliding gently against hers.

“Merry Christmas, ladies. I wish you a long and happy marriage.” Cordelia finally takes a good look at him, noticing the Santa hat perched on his head. She glances at the clock on her dashboard. 

12:01am on Christmas morning. 

She drives away slowly as if scared the chapel had been a mirage and she was still in bed dreaming of such a miraculous gift.

“Are we crazy?”

Cordelia contemplates a moment, cherishes the idea that her entire being is brought to redemption at the mere fact that Misty exists. This is crazy, she believes, but it also feels like the most normal thing she’s ever done. Her life has been one big adventure of love and heartbreak, turmoil and success in a never ending cycle. This is the easiest thing she’s done, like marrying Misty has been a breath of fresh air after living in a stale environment all her life.

“I think we are, yes.”

“I think I’m okay with that.” 

“Me too.”

Cordelia pulls them into a 24 hour grocery store that has Misty asking, “What are we doin’ here?”

“It’s not a wedding without some cake and flowers.”

“Well gosh, I wouldn’t know,” Misty jibes, sliding her hand up the back of Cordelia’s shirt, “it’s my first marriage after all. I’ll need you to show me the ropes.”

“First and last,” she replies before leaning in for another kiss. 

“I want chocolate with buttercream or this marriage is over.”

* * *

_After you fall asleep,_   
_I'll kiss both your eyes and cheeks_   
_I know we're not the same_   
_You're an angel_   
_in disguise_   
_You're an angel_   
_in my eyes_

* * *

It’s nearly two am when they arrive home, the house blissfully silent. If Cordelia could keep her hands off Misty, maybe her peals of laughter wouldn’t echo through the dark and empty halls. She finds herself unable to care when Cordelia’s hands travel lower and cup her lower half.

In their room, Misty carries the cake over and gets right in the center of their bed, digs her fork in and takes a huge bite. “Jesus, Delia,” she says around a mouthful, “this cake is fuckin’ amazing. Does everything taste better when you’re in love?”

Cordelia is busy uncorking the celebratory champagne bottle the chapel had provided them. “I think everything is better when you’re in love.” There is a shift behind her and she assumes Misty is just making herself comfortable.

“Even the sex?”

The room grows so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Cordelia looks up at Misty and finds her already half naked; a vision that doesn’t have any right being so incredibly enticing. She has to blink to make sure it’s real. That Misty is, in fact, topless and sitting upright in her bed.

“Take your pants off,” she demands, and Cordelia immediately complies. She crawls in Misty’s lap and looks into blue eyes darkened by the electric hum in the air. With her legs pinned on either side of Misty’s waist, it gives the latter the perfect advantage to dance nimble fingers along her thigh, delighted when it makes them shake.

“ _Misty_ ,” Cordelia breathes, and it comes out as some sort of prayer. Her body is charged up like a lightning bolt, ready to strike the ground with untamed force. Misty takes a fistful of her blouse and tugs it up, waits for Cordelia to lift her arms and allow it to come off. 

The exposed valley of Cordelia’s unmarred skin is temptation personified as her hands trail slowly from thigh to hip. “You’re so pretty,” she brushes her mouth against a nipple that’s straining through mesh, enjoys the whine that follows. “May I touch you?”

“We’re married, you can do whatever you want.” At the reminder, Cordelia breaks into a sinfully beautiful smile that Misty mirrors immediately. The warmth in her chest flourishes, aggravated by Misty’s careful reverence of her body.

“Don’t tell me that, I might keep you here for the rest a’ our lives.”

“I don’t think that’d bother me any.”

Misty rubs at her through her panties, teases slowly until Cordelia releases a low groan and grabs her wrist, angles it under the fabric and releases it. “When I said you can do anything, I didn’t mean you could tease me.”

The swamp witch would love to bite back with a snarky reply telling her she deserves to be teased, but Cordelia is so, _so_ wet.

“Misty, I, I’m-“ Cordelia clenches her jaw and squeezes her eyes shut in exquisite pain, blinks them back open like she doesn’t want to miss a second of this.

“I know,” she shushes, “Let me take care of you.”

She circles her clit softly, listens for the hitch in Cordelia’s breath before moving forward. She lines two fingers up and looks at her, waiting for confirmation; which Cordelia gives by sinking down immediately. The second Misty slips inside her, they both freeze. Nothing in this world could have prepared them for the decimating rush that came from being connected like this.

Cordelia whispers _ah_ , _shit_ at the same time Misty starts moving her fingers. She strokes diligently, thrusting in tune with the way Cordelia’s hips grind forward. The air in their room is cold from the chill outside, but neither of them have been so warm. There is an eternal ache within Misty that will chase this burn until gladly succumbing to it completely. Cordelia provides her that burn, a mutual give and take.

Two fingers pump steadily while the room fills with an array of noises, all stemming from the pleasure that keeps Cordelia’s eyes screwed shut. Misty has to keep her eyes open to be sure she’s reading this situation correctly; that Cordelia is riding her hand half naked in her lap, that she is inside Cordelia, and that Cordelia sounds like she’s about to come for her. Misty nips at her breast through the fabric of her bra, one hand sneaking behind to unclasp it for full access. When the bra falls away in a tangled mess of straps and black lace, Misty leans forward, stills her fingers, and looks up at the woman in her lap. Cordelia squeaks in exasperation and looks down, and that is when Misty traces the tip of her tongue over her nipple before sucking it between her teeth.

“ _Oh_ ,” Cordelia sighs, dropping her chin on the crown of Misty’s head. “Oh my _God_.”

Her steady rhythm falters with the feel of Misty’s lips on her chest, and a new surge of arousal washes over. She lovingly brushes Misty’s hair back behind her shoulder, then grips it as Misty begins a faster paced rhythm that sends butterflies to her lower stomach. The quicker she chases the high, the harder Misty curls her fingers. Misty wants to ask Cordelia if she can feel herself practically dripping down her wrist, but there are other, more important things happening in the moment. 

Misty bites sharply at her throat, just enough to leave behind a blooming bruise Cordelia will have to cover in the morning. Fixating her with a mossy stare, she purrs, “Say you’re mine.” 

Cordelia’s smirk is both lopsided and smug. “Is that what you want?”

“ _Please_.” She punctuates the request with a deep, off beat thrust. 

Cordelia is so strung out chasing this high that the confirmation fumbles from her mouth, and she is so very glad Misty seems to understand the sentiment that she will forever be indebted to this bond in life, in death, and whatever waits for them beyond this realm of living.

One more throaty sigh rips from her vocal box at the same second Misty’s thumb rolls over her clit. Her thighs squeeze around Misty’s hand, her eyes roll back, and she is coming harder than she’s ever come in her life. 

She tries to catch her breath, tries to ease herself back into the plane of existence; but she is sky high. There’s no coming down from this. Her world has been skyrocketed to a place beyond the gates of Heaven. She has now become a celestial being, a vision for Misty to admire from afar.

Misty slips out of her gently, sucks the wet fingers in her mouth before humming contentedly.

“Good?” She keeps her voice low and coy, knows it drives Cordelia wild.

“Christ, Mist, I-” 

Her thought process is interrupted as Misty throws her down on the bed and straddles Cordelia’s stomach. Her skirt rides up with the movement, and Cordelia can feel how wet she is through all the layers. One hand slides up the smooth curve of her hip to a perky nipple that Cordelia immediately thumbs at.  
  
“Care to show me how good it was?” Misty asks this sweetly, can already tell the answer is yes with the way Cordelia yanks her skirt down lean legs.

Cordelia wants to have her mouth and hands in so many places, wants to make Misty’s soul come alive with the magic that flows through her veins. She wishes she can touch all these places at once, but she settles for running her hands up and down the sides of Misty’s waist.

“You’ll be the death of me, Misty Day. I swear it.”

Misty laughs heartily, walks herself forward on two knees until she’s hovering over Cordelia’s face. “And wouldn’t that be a way to go out.”

Instead of replying, Cordelia’s arches her neck up and lets her tongue glide over her. She drags it through wet folds, ghosting over the skin with a timid pace until Misty grinds down and calls her name out in the moonlit room. 

“God _damn_ ,” Misty murmurs, “s’much better than my fingers.”

Gripping the backs of her thighs, Cordelia alternates between licking lightly at her clit and suckling it gently, never fully committing. She doesn’t want this to be over so soon, wants it last all night and well into tomorrow. It might be selfish of her, but Misty riding her face like this is a golden opportunity she intends to keep. Misty rocks herself back and forth in no clear pattern, choking on gasps and moans when Cordelia buries her tongue into wet warmth and licks harder at her.

Her lips brush over Misty’s clit and she feels the shudder wrack through her, sucks it into her mouth completely to relish in the groan that accompanies. Misty cries out, jumbling a string of filthy praises that causes Cordelia to suck harder at the bundle of nerves. She tenses without warning, arcs forward, and the pleasure fully consumes her like a drug through her veins. Misty’s body ascends to places higher beyond the realm of anything she’s ever reached on her own.

In the following moments, Cordelia lazily brings her down slowly, laps gently at the sensitive skin. Misty unmounts her face with trembling limbs and swoops down to pull her in for a messy, wet kiss.

“Maybe you were right,” she rasps, dragging her pointer finger down the column of Cordelia’s throat. Her cheeks are pink and rosy, her nipples are still hard, and her skin is bright with a flush from the afterglow.

“About what?”

“Everything is better when you’re in love.”

“Would I lie to you?” Cordelia splays a palm over Misty’s hip, sending a new thrill up her spine. Without some form of contact, she’s scared she may blink and Misty will be gone.

Unconsciously, Misty tiptoes her hand down her torso, down to where she is still embarrassingly wet and aching. Cordelia catches her doing so, quirks her brow in amusement, and grins. Misty simply replies with a shrug and a look that says _this is your fault, you make me insatiable_. 

What catches her off guard, though, is Cordelia’s soft and flirtatious voice in her ear. “May I watch?” If she keeps this up, there’ll be nothing _to_ watch because Misty will be coming all over herself the next time Cordelia opens her mouth.

A surge of something saccharine and sweet pangs in her lower gut and Misty finds herself nodding, spreading her legs even wider. She comes like that moments later; Cordelia’s dark eyes full of mirth and amazement as she glances down with rapt attention, sweet murmurs of praise sending endless shivers down her spine.

As she rides out the waves with two fingers still swirling her clit, Cordelia says, “Thank you for letting me see that.”

Misty simply presses a kiss to every place she can reach until she’s finally satisfied for the time being. With all the time they’ve wasted apart, she may never be fully satisfied. She may have to keep Cordelia here in this bed for an eternity to make up for lost time. If she’s lucky, they’ll end up in the same afterlife together, fingers laced together and souls conjoined. With the way Cordelia holds to her so possessively, she thinks it may be plausible. 

  
During some point in the night, Cordelia’s arm slung possessively around Misty’s waist, their bodies a mess of tangled limbs. Misty brushes their noses together, waits patiently until it makes Cordelia blink her eyes open. 

“You look real cute when ya sleep, Dee.”

Bright and shiny eyes still deep from sleep examine Misty for a bit, mapping the outlines of her face. When Cordelia speaks, it’s soft and dreamy with a lilt that has Misty’s heart pittering. “Are you real?”

“All real, baby.”

“I feel like I made you up. Like I dreamed all of last night.”

“Your credit card bill is gonna say otherwise,” Misty howls with laughter when Cordelia’s fingers tickle at her waist, “Jeez _us_ , I’m just sayin’.”

“It’s hard to believe you exist outside of my dreams,” Cordelia grazes her knuckles across Misty’s cheek, leans in and follows the blazing trail with her mouth, pressing soft kisses that make Misty’s stomach feel honey-filled. The warm skin under her lips provides exponential comfort that Misty is not a part of her frequent figments of imagination, and is, in fact, reclined across from her like a goddess.

“Guess you gotcha self a whole lifetime with me to prove I’m real.”

“Forever,” Cordelia confirms before pressing a harder kiss against her lips.

“Delia?” Misty sighs and angles her neck to allow Cordelia to continue kissing down it.

“Yes, baby.”

“Can we go eat?”

Cordelia laughs breathlessly, already feeling aroused at the simple notion that Misty is next to her in bed. “Yes, but you’re not going to have a fun time.”

“Interestin’, I’ve never had a bad experience with food.”

“We got married without telling Coco,” she reminds.

“Reckon we’ll just order food straight to this bed then.”

“Misty.”

Downstairs, the two had missed the small gift exchange as evidenced by wrapping paper and gift boxes flung in array in the living room.

Coco, Queenie, Madison, Zoe, and Mallory are all chattering at the dining room table, picking on a brunch of leftovers from last night. All eyes turn to Cordelia as Misty forces her forward.

“Hi, girls.”

They eye her warily. “Morning, Cordelia.”

She takes her seat at the head of the table, Misty plopping in the seat to her direct right. Misty clears her throat, motions with her head towards the girls, and shoots her a look.

“So, I have some news,” she begins, and Zoe instantly interrupts.

“Misty’s not leaving, is she? Because you can’t just make her leave like that. I don’t care if you two are fighting or whatever.” It looks like it’s taken all of Zoe’s confidence to stand up to Cordelia like this, and it makes Misty’s heart warm.

“No,” Cordelia clears her throat, “I’m not making her leave. She’s not leaving. We- well, first I’d like to apologize for my behavior over the past week. I was operating on a mode unlike me, and I hope you all can forgive me for that.”

A low murmur of agreement follows.

“And the second thing,” Cordelia grasps Misty’s knuckles to tether herself down, “Misty and I got married last night.”

Coco downs her glass and sharply snorts. “You guys are fucking hilarious. April Fool’s isn’t for four more months.” She goes back to pouring a drink made of champagne and the tiniest splash of orange juice, unaware of Cordelia’s pained look.

“So you two got married...” Zoe looks suspiciously between the two of them, “without even dating first.”

“This is why I prefer dick. Lesbians are fucking weird,” Madison says, going back to her plate.

Mallory gives a simple congrats, eyeing them warily like she believes she’s being pranked.

Queenie notices the way Misty is staring dreamily at Cordelia, setting her fork down with force that rattles the table. “Y’all ain’t joking, are you?”

Misty finally speaks, and it sounds like she’s had her head in the clouds for the last twelve hours. “No, we’re not joking. It’s what we wanted.”

“No,” Coco exclaims, “ _no_. I refuse to believe you two did this.” When she takes a good long look at the frog ring sitting atop Misty’s ring finger, her shrill screech nearly cracks the glass champagne flutes on the table. “You guys did fucking not.”

“We’re sorry,” Misty offers, but Coco is already launching herself at Cordelia.

She pulls Misty in for a similar hug, and when they part, Coco is a blubbering mess. “I can’t believe you guys did this without telling me. I mean, without telling us.” She socks Cordelia in the arm with false force.

“You can throw us a party,” Misty says, and regrets it immediately when Coco starts pulling up a list of names and contacts for caterers and florists.

“You did this to yourself,” Cordelia whispers low in her ear, and Misty thinks it’ll be okay if Cordelia stays this close to her for the rest of time.

“So I take it you guys aren’t hungry,” Madison quips when they finally get Coco sedated with enough champagne to calm down.

“Why would that be?”

“Didn’t you spend all night eating out?”

Misty pipes up, “If we’re bein’ honest, only Delia-”

Cordelia sighs heavily, drops her face into her palms, and pretends she doesn’t see the bread roll Queenie chucks at Madison’s head.

For the rest of brunch, Cordelia eats and drinks with one hand, the other in a grip with Misty’s. She holds onto her so tightly that the patches of emptiness inside of her slowly fill with warmth, the kind that only comes from the sun after a long dark winter. It makes sense, Misty being her sun. Bright and shiny and always in her orbit. She doesn’t plan on ever letting go.

After brunch, Zoe calls for a family movie day. They spread out in the living room, a flurry of soft blankets and pillows. The air outside is crisp and cool, fogging the windows with a frost that only adds to the holiday’s coziness. Misty finds herself at home with her head in Cordelia’s lap, just the way she’s always wanted it to be.

Upstairs, after everyone has begun snoozing post-meal, Cordelia gifts Misty a hand poured candle meant to imitate the smells of their greenhouse and a dainty silver chain complete with an agate gemstone to match Misty’s eyes. Misty openly cries over the painstaking thought Cordelia has put into this, which earns her a hug and deep, unfathomably divine kiss.

Maybe it’s the holiday, or maybe it’s the recklessly exciting thing they’d done twelve hours ago, but Cordelia has never been in a better state of mind. (Especially after Misty gets her on all fours and returns the gift by working two long fingers inside her; one ringed, so sweetly and gently that Cordelia sheds her own tear or two.)

Everything about Misty is intoxicating, compelling, and stimulating, but not satisfying. Cordelia will never be satisfied because she will never get enough of Misty. Even if they lived out their days attached at the hip, souls whispering echoes of romantic poems to each other, it’s not nearly good enough. Maybe nothing will ever be. But, God, does Cordelia plan to try.

Christmas has never been romantic to Cordelia, but now it will never be anything but.

**Author's Note:**

> yeahhhhh ok how is everyone?? y'all need anything? some snacks????  
> also yes im writing another christmas fic don’t JuDGe me ok it’ll be up next week  
> i take requests/prompts/ideas/will chat headcanons if people want them so drop a comment if you're so inclined. love y'all with my entire grinch heart


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